Act Accordingly
by Zighana
Summary: After being captured by The Governor, Michonne is faced with an ultimatum: be The Governor's toy, or place the Prison and Rick in the lethal crosshairs. After sacrificing herself for the sake of the group, she finds her captor taking a liking to her that goes far beyond hatred. Michonne/Governor, non-con, eventual smut.
1. Chapter 1

Act Accordingly

Mud sloshed beneath her feet as she ran through the woods, slicing through botany and walkers with the swish of her sword with deadly accuracy. She has to run; Judith's medicine depends on it. The rain washed away her scent of walker repellent, making the walkers come to her as a source of food. Though she doesn't worry about them, her speed is slowing down in the rain and she's slowly running out of breath. When she feels the body of a walker gaining on her, she plunges her sword into its head and jerks it out with a vertical slice. Brain matter and putrefied flesh splatters on the back of her head, making her sick. But she swallows her sick and keeps moving, dodging and slicing while holding onto the medicine.

The prison is so close she could taste it.

When her foot touches the pavement of the prison she feels a sharp jab in her spine.

She collapses to the ground, groaning at the new skinned flesh of her body. She flips over on her stomach and sees him.

He stands over him, his good eye staring into her.

"Well, well, well. Look what I've caught."


	2. Chapter 2: The Deal

The Bargaining Chip

Philp threw an unconscious Michonne over his shoulder, whistling an indescribable tune and brandishing his gun. He's in conflict; kill her to avenge Penny, or keep her alive and find an adequate punishment for his formidable foe? Killing her would be too easy, too menial of a task that lacks effort and originality. Torture isn't an option; he knows her mind is shrouded in mystery and heavily guarded; no amount of pain or psychological warfare would be enough to make her break. He wants an adequate punishment that's as humiliating, satisfying, and cruel enough to fit Michonne's crime.

He throws her in the passenger side of his truck, checking the strength of the rope that binds her wrists and observing her. Unconscious and angry seems to be a fitting look for her at the moment. He straps her in and drives back to Woodbury, scenarios of how he'll punish her running rampant in his mind.

Rick paces back and forth in his room, eyes flitting towards the prison windows in hopes of seeing his sword swinging warrior running in with Judith's medicine cradled in her arms. But to his disappointment, and grief, no one there but the monotonous sludge of walkers stumbling among the pastures, looking for another meal.

"Rick," Carol warns, "You need to calm down and prepare for the worst. If she didn't make it, we have to keep…"

"Don't say that, Carol. She's alive, I can feel it. I just want to know where she is." He looks to the window, getting nervous as he doesn't see her anywhere.

Water splashes into Michonne's face. She sputters and coughs, jumping to her feet, only to feel a crude jerk pull her back to the ground with a loud clatter of chains. Her eyes scan her surroundings, and notices she's in a holding cell of sorts, packed with a bucket, a tray of scraps, and her mobility limited by the chains adorning her figure. The area of light is blocked by a figure, and once her eyes focus in on the mass, it becomes the Governor.

"You," she seethes, "if I wasn't chained to this floor I'd kill you where you stand."

"That's why you're chained to the floor," he replies, crouching down next to her, his hand running over one of her dreadlocks.

"I should kill you, you know. Torture you till you beg for mercy, gut you to where you bleed to death nice and slow. And throw in a child so when you turn, you'd eat her. A fitting punishment, wouldn't you agree?"

"You're sick,"

"You murdered my daughter, you…_bitch._" He yanks her hair and jerks her head up so they could lock eyes.

"I'd never thought I'd call a woman that outside of my mother, but you, my dear, are a willing exception." He hisses against her lips, his good eye filled with rage.

"Whatever you're going to do, you better do it now, because once I get free, you're going to regret the day you took your first breath."

He chuckles.

"That's what I'm figuring out. What am I going to do to you? Skin you alive, drown you in a pool of corpse sludge, humiliate you as I tear every shred of dignity you had away from you piece by piece? Tell me, Michonne, what idea sounds the most fitting?"

"You getting dying by my sword."

"Cute." He slams her against the floor, making sure her head made contact first. She yelps, but otherwise remains silent as Philip paces over her, the overwhelming smell of dirt and polished leather taking over her senses.

"I think I have the perfect idea."

He smiles a wicked smile.

"Let me ask you something, Michonne," he looks down at her, "How much is your group worth to you?"

"Why?"

"Answer the question, girl. How important is your group's safety?"

Michonne keeps silent.

The Governor continues.

"How much would you sacrifice to keep your group safe and sound? Would you sacrifice your dignity, identity, self-respect, in order to keep the ones you care about safe and sound, including an infant?"

Her eyes widen.

He must've gotten his hands on her basket of medicine for Judith.

"What are you implying?"

"Sacrifice yourself. Come willingly and be my pet, or everyone, including that infant child, will die."

"You don't even know where they are."

"Not too far from here; they can't stay hidden forever and we both know it. All it takes is for one to let their guard down and we come runnin'. We'll kill everyone in that group, and let you come and watch their bodies as they turn and eat that cute infant child. Would you like that?"

"You bastard!" she bucks against the restraints, trying to attack her assailant, but fails. He instead chuckles and traces the chains.

"I've been called a lot of things, but I don't care. So let's make a deal. For the safety of your precious group including that child, you'll come with me and make up for your misdeeds by doing whatever I say, when I say, and how I say."

He straddles her, his hand caressing her neck.

"When I say 'jump', you'll ask 'how high?'."

His hand gets slightly tighter.

"When I say 'run' you'll ask 'how far?'."

His hand adds pressure, thumb stroking her trachea.

"And if you so much as _think _about rebelling,"

He grips her neck tightly, satisfied to hear her gasp.

"I'll find your group, I'll bring them to you and kill them off one by one while you watch. I have a military, a fortress of men and women who'll do anything I say. All I have to do is give the word and everyone you know and love will die nice and slow and let you keep that on your conscience. Hell, I'll even preserve them so you can see them every time you go to sleep."

"_Fuck_ you," she hisses.

"No, sweetheart. It is _I _who's fucking you."


	3. Chapter 3: Sacrifice

Chapter Three

Michonne sucks in as much as possible, but fails.

The bindings on her upper body feel too tight; she vaguely remembers why corsets were banned from mainstream fashion ages ago.

"Hold still, miss. I got to make sure your eyeshadow is properly applied."

She'd much rather spit in his face as he swipes her eyelid with another coat of eyeshadow.

It's been almost three hours since Michonne, for the safety of her group, has accepted her fate and is thrust into the role of the Governor's…_mistress_. Whore, concubine, or pet sounds the most fitting but she won't degrade herself even further. It's hard to hold on to her last sliver of dignity when the Governor is trying his best to erase everything Michonne was for this new…identity he's making for her.

She coughs when she's hit with the strong smell of perfume, wheezes as the corset bodice is pulled tighter; she swears she can hear one of her ribs crack from the pressure. Everything hurts, it seems: her ribs, her hips, her face from the cheap and long expired makeup caked on, her hair from the constant yanking and twisting, and her feet from the heels that are way too high and give her blisters.

The most aching part of her has to be her pride; it's been so long since she's dressed up and looking in the mirror shocks her to her core. She looks like the ghost of who she was before the apocalypse: her face younger and vibrant from the covering up of her bags and battle scars, hair carefully manicured and twisted up into a high bun and wearing a sleeveless red bodice and skirt combo that looks striking against her dark skin. She sees traits of her former self shining back at her. It seemed so long ago…

"You look beautiful," the makeshift makeup artist comments, pushing up his glasses, "The Governor would be very pleased."

As if on cue, in walks the Governor, clad in suit and tie and waiting expectantly for her.

It makes her sick.

"My, my," he muses, scratching his chin, "Without the burning desire to kill you where you stand, you look…appetizing." He runs his fingers over Michonne's bare shoulder and she jolts. Bile begins to form in her gut and she quickly pushes it down.

"I can't wait to show you off to everyone. What will they think when they see you, beautiful, dangerous, and tamed?"

"I hate you."

"I hate you more, pet." He whispers against her neck. She feels silk drape over her neck and hears a click.

"What the hell is this?" she touches the metal ring over her necklace with disgust and wonder.

"Your collar. Can't trust you to be out of my sight just yet." He clips a leash around the collar and beams at her.

"This is inhumane."

"Makes it all the more fitting, is it not?"

"Asshole."

"Bitch."

* * *

As Philip looks down at his 'date', leashed and looking at him with pure hatred, he can't help but grin. He takes his time parading her around his citizens at the party, soaking in the whispers, gasps, and applause from them. After the pleasantries were over, he asks for the audience to gather around for his new announcement.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he acknowledges, "It has come to my attention that change is happening."

Many oohs and ah's come from the crowd.

"First and foremost I'd like to introduce you to the new addition to Woodbury, Michonne. She has lost her way, but trust and believe I'll guide her back on the right path." His fingers wrap around her waist and sink into her hip. She hisses, eagerly wanting to pry fingers off her but restrains herself. She has to obey for the sake of the group, no matter how badly she wants to take her sword and plunge it into his chest cavity.

"Smile for the audience, would you, dear?" he whispers in her ear. Wincing, she smiles a tight smile and is greeted by the applause of the audience.

"Well, Michonne and I wish to retire for the evening. Enjoy the festivities and tomorrow we'll debrief over yesterday's findings." He guides Michonne to the exit and it's then she hears the whispers.

"_She's the new girl? He's definitely fucking her."_

"_She looks like a feisty one. You can look into her eyes and tell."_

"_He sure does have some strange tastes. I wonder how long this one will last."_

"_He's got her on a leash! Poor thing."_

She wants to tell them to shut up, that she doesn't want her pity, but as she is lead out to the Governor's bedchambers, she braces herself for what's to come. For now, this is her fate. She's going to have to lie down and take it. As long as Judith is safe, this is nothing.

It'll be worth it in the end.


	4. Chapter 4: Show Me Your Bones

"Strip."

Michonne balks at such a request. Is he serious?

"I'm not going to ask you again."

Michonne takes a deep breath, and unknots the bindings of her corset. Once her corset falls to the floor, her ribs and chest expands with air. She shudders in a breath as her skirt falls to the floor, pooling at her feet like a red sea. She stands there, the panties a last remnant of her dignity.

"Those too."

She grits her teeth and shimmies out of her panties, the cold air making her inner core shiver.

"I always imagined you like this," Philip breathes out, circling over her, hands ghosting over every battle scar, every bruise and cut that mars her once perfect skin.

"Only, to see you this vulnerable, this submissive. It's a whole different experience."

"You make me sick," Michonne bites out, gasping when his hands cup her sex.

"How long?"

"What?"

"How long has it's been since someone pleasured you?"

_Too long, _she thinks, but won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that detail. She bites her lip when his thumb scrapes against her clitoris.

"I asked you a question. I hate repeating myself, dear."

The thumb swirls and caresses her, making her legs shake.

"A while," she yelps out. The Governor chuckles.

"I know."

His hand leaves her.

"I could do it, you know." He begins, "torture you, beat you, kill you. But I'm not going to do any of those things. Instead, I want to find every weakness you have and exploit it."

His hand latches on to her breast, the thumb scraping against the nipple.

"I'll make you come. And I'll make you break." The hand shoots up to wrap around her throat, squeezing gently. He smiles a warm smile at her, but Michonne feels turmoil in her gut, fear racing through her frame.

"I won't let you," her voice raises an octave when his hand is replaced with his lips, his teeth softly tugging at her flesh. His lips latch on to the spot between her neck and shoulder, sucking and licking that spot until it bruised a deep purple and Michonne's struggling to hold on to her sanity.

_Stay strong, Michonne. Don't give him what he wants, _she tells herself, biting her lip. She won't give him the satisfaction of seeing her feel pleasure, she won't give in to her bodily needs. She won't…

Philip puts her breast in his mouth, tongue swirling and trapping her nipple. He hums a soft tune while stroking her folds. He hums an obscure tune that vibrates across her flesh; she bites back her moans.

"Sing for me, Michonne. Your friends' lives depend on it."

When his teeth scrape over her nipple she moans softly.

"Beautiful." He whispers, his fingers dipping inside of her and stroking her inner walls.

Her legs buckle; she fights to stand upright, but the pleasure is weakening her. His movements are cold, calculated, and borderline sadistic as he drinks in her soft moans and whimpers like fine wine. When his fingers crook and brush against her aching spot, he smirks against her flesh when she draws in a shuddering breath and groans out,

"I hate you…"

His fingers move faster as he suckles her other breast, his eyes watching her fall apart. She's close to her climax, and he wants her to be in the moment and know who's getting her there.

"Look at me." He commands.

Spiteful eyes lock onto his and he smirks.

"Why," she grits out, "won't you let me escape? Why do you insist on reminding me of my torture?"

"Payment for mine." He breathes against her lips. His good eye locks on to hers as she reaches a high-pitched moan and her walls clench his fingers in a vice grip. She takes a deep breath, coming down from her sexual high, never losing eye contact with him. He withdraws his fingers, licks them clean, and smears the residue on her cheek.

"I wish we could continue our little…experiment, but we need to retire for the night; I have an important event I need to prepare for. After that, we'll play some more until I make you crack."

He shackles her foot to his bed and lies down, taking her with him. As her sweaty body molds against his, he holds her close, chuckling.

This is only the beginning.


End file.
